


one more bottle of jack

by bowlingfornerds



Series: tumblr prompts [31]
Category: The 100
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Best Friends to Lovers, Drinking, Drunk Dial, F/M, Fluff, Parties, drunk texts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 03:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6267097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bowlingfornerds/pseuds/bowlingfornerds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>aliceofalonso prompted: "Bellarke- Drunken Confessions?! Or drunk dials? Really just drunk Bellarke shenanigans! Thank you!"</p><p>Clarke is one hell of a drinker, when it comes to nights out. She's also probably the girl of Bellamy's dreams. This is the night where those two things come to a head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	one more bottle of jack

**Author's Note:**

> I love prompts. I love prompts. You should prompt me at [tempestaurora](http://tempestaurora.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.  
> I love the prompt, I love Bellarke, this turned out four times bigger than originally planned.  
> Only the first half of this was edited.  
> Title from Hollywood Undead's 'One More Bottle' which was 15 year old me's favourite song.
> 
> Enjoy!

For as long as Bellamy had known Clarke, Bellamy had also known that Clarke was one hell of a drinker. She didn’t do it often, but if she was going to do it, she was going to go _all out_. Sometimes, it was just by herself in her apartment, with some vodka and a film and he would hear about it the next morning – or sometimes during the night if she phoned him crying that the dog from Marley and Me died, even though she’d seen that film a thousand times. Other nights, she would take everyone out to the bar and waste the inheritance she was left when her father died, and spend up the excessive money her mother was funnelling into her pocket every month. She’d buy rounds for the whole group, the whole bar, over and over until she was stumbling after each step and would fall asleep under the pool table.

Then there were the parties. Her building wouldn’t let her have parties, so she would arrange them anywhere else – usually at the guys’ house. This house was home to Miller, Murphy, Jasper and Monty, who got along in a sitcom-esque kind of way; there were pranks, flying projectiles, and most days the toilet seat was left up. But they had a house share in a young, university-based neighbourhood, and Clarke was happy to fund any and all parties they wanted to throw.

(Bellamy hated her at first for the amount of money she threw around, but he got used to the fact that she had so much. Clarke had learned never to throw money at _him_ , but spending what she had too much of already wasn’t worth arguing over anymore, not when she already donated monthly to charities, paid for her art supplies and living expenses, and _still_ had so much left over.)

Clarke stopped by his apartment on the way to the supermarket. She’d long stopped knocking and resorted to entering with a smile and a slam of the door, clapping her hands and raising an eyebrow at his attire.

“Get dressed!” She announced. From the sofa, Bellamy lowered the book into his lap and raised his eyebrows, questioningly. “We’re going shopping.”

“For what?”

“For party supplies.”

Bellamy pushed the trolley and Clarke filled it – which was their deal any and all times they went shopping together. Clarke had very little control over trolleys, skateboards, cars, and so she resorted not to being in control of them as often as possible. She lowered a few more bottles of Malibu into the trolley and turned back to the shelves again.

“How many people are coming tonight?” Bellamy asked, slowly moving the trolley forward.

“Up of twenty, below a hundred,” she muttered in response, frowning. Bellamy caught what she was looking at, as she moved onto tip toes, reaching her arms up.

“Whoa, there, Princess,” he said, shaking his head. Clarke frowned at him, sticking out her lower lip and he pushed down the urge to kiss her. She told him how many bottles she wanted and he handed them over as she piled them into the trolley. His crush on Clarke was long-standing and known of by absolutely everyone _except_ her. After getting over his initial hatred, they’d become fast and best friends, which was what made him slowly start to fall – well, not in love, because he refused to admit that, but close enough to it – for her.

Clarke thanked him and he pushed the trolley again.

“You are coming tonight, right?” She checked as they reached the till. They were picking up each bottle and placing it on the conveyer belt. Both Clarke and Bellamy got their IDs out, and the cashier nodded them through, ringing their bottles up one by one.

“I’ll stop by,” he promised. “But I have work tomorrow morning, so I can’t stay too long.” Clarke sighed.

“It’s going to be the party of the year,” she told him. He laughed, piling the bottles into bags. Clarke then lifted the bag into the trolley and they went on in that way.

“You say that every time,” he told her. “And besides, the year just started.” It was only February. Clarke nodded.

“That’s how great this party is going to be – they’re going to be trying to beat it for the next ten months,” she replied.

“Who’s ‘they’?” Clarke shrugged.

“You know, people.”

“You, then?” She scrunched her nose up at him. “Just admit it, you’re going to try and beat this party for the next ten months.”

“Well it’ll be easier if you don’t stay for very long,” she told him quietly, moving around him and fishing out her card to pay for the drinks.

“And why’s that?” Bellamy asked as he fills the last bag.

“Because all the parties are better when you’re there,” she muttered, and it felt more like a confession than he thought it would.

-

He arrived at the party when it was in full swing. There were nearer to a hundred than twenty people, and the strobe lighting flashed around the dim rooms. A throng of people made the living room into a dance floor; the sofa pushed to the side and the television unplugged and hidden from the crowd. Some house party hit played over the speakers, and he could hear it when he parked two roads away.

The only room with actual lighting was the kitchen, where Miller stood with Monty, drinking out of beer cans and talking. Bellamy wandered in, squeezing through the door way. Immediately, Miller handed him a beer and Bellamy nodded his thanks.

His apartment wasn’t too far from the house, so if he got drunk he could easily walk home, but Bellamy preferred not to be walking out in the cold.

“Have you seen Clarke yet?” Monty asked. The music was slightly quieter, but Bellamy’s friend still had to yell to be heard. Bellamy shook his head, popping open his drink.

“How smashed is she?” The two exchanged a look and Bellamy sighed.

“Last I saw her, she was doing body shots off of Raven,” Miller told him.

“How long ago was that?” Bellamy asked. Miller shrugged.

“Twenty minutes ago? And Murphy was around, so it wouldn’t surprise me if she’s licking salt off of his neck right now.” Bellamy groaned. He could handle drunk Clarke on her own, and drunk Murphy on his own – but whenever the two of them were drunk together, it just didn’t go… _well._ They were friendlier with each other when their inhibitions were lowered and their vision was hazy – everyone’s pretty sure the two of them hooked up at one of the parties, but never spoke of it when sober.

“I better go find her,” Bellamy told his friends. They raised their beers in farewell, and he ducked out of the room and into the crowd. Of course, Clarke was going to be difficult to find. The house wasn’t huge, by any means, but it was packed and every person looked alike in orange and pink lighting.

Bellamy checked outside, but knew he wouldn’t find her there. All he found was Jasper, smoking, and someone throwing up in the bushes. In the living room, he found Raven in the middle of the dance floor, grinding down on someone who he’d never seen before – and he doubted she had either.

“Have you seen Clarke?” He yelled. She shook her head, and whoever was dancing with her gripped a little more at her waist, as if to mark his property. Bellamy doubted Raven would let that slide.

“Have you tried the den?” Raven called back. Bellamy went off in that direction, passing the drinking game in the hallway, and the littered bottles on the floor. He considered turning up earlier next time there was a party, not when it was late enough for people to be too drunk to clean up after themselves.

He found Clarke in the den, a game of beer pong going on between Murphy and a stranger. Clarke was on the sofa, and she grinned when Bellamy entered.

“Bell!” She cheered. The stranger missed his shot, surprised by the outburst. Murphy smirked.

“Hey, Clarke,” he greeted. She swiped his beer from his hand when he sat next to her on the sofa, but he pulled it back when she’d had a sip.

“Are you enjoying the party?”

“Best of the year,” he promised. Clarke cheered once more, grinning, before wrapping an arm around his shoulder. She was shorter and smaller than him, so it looked like an awkward position for her, but she laughed anyway, not caring.

“Did you hear that I did body shots off of Raven?” He nodded.

“I did hear that. Did you go near Murphy?” Clarke rolled her eyes.

“I’m not drunk enough for that,” she replied.

“How far away?”

“Far enough that hopefully he’ll pass out before it happens,” Clarke said firmly. Bellamy eyed her for a moment before nodding.

“Good, I don’t want to have to hear about it tomorrow.” His best friend grinned, nodding. She took his beer can again, taking another swig. They were silent for a moment, before Clarke looked up at him.

“Dance with me,” she said, nodding. Bellamy didn’t have much of a chance to object, because she put down his half empty beer and took his hand. He fought the urge to lace his fingers with hers as she pulled him back to the living room. They were on the outskirts of the crowd for a while, but soon enough she was stumbling towards the middle, Bellamy attached, and spinning.

Clarke’s dancing when she was drunk was always carefree and happy. She span, her arms in the air, and laughed loudly. Her entire body swung with the music, and her hands linked with Bellamy’s, spinning herself and then him before she twisted with the melody. Clarke couldn’t dance when she was sober, but when she was drunk it was like a whole other person – Bellamy danced with her, letting her lead and choose which way they went. Whenever it looked like she was about to start grinding on him – following the lead of the others surrounding them – he always spun her out and moved it away. He couldn’t be dealing with those emotions _and_ a drunk Clarke. He was only human.

He stayed for another hour, and Clarke got progressively drunker as time went on. They stuck together, as they often did at parties; Bellamy’s arm wrapped around her waist and her hand on his back or circled around his arm. It was partly so they wouldn’t lose each other, and partly because this way, neither of them would get hit on by someone unwanted. On the nights when either wanted a hook up, they’d simply let go of the other and make their moves.

Tonight – and the most recent nights – hadn’t been one of those nights, it seemed.

“You know,” Clarke slurred as Bellamy led her out into the garden. There were quite a lot of people out there; glittering fairy lights strung up around the trees, chairs and a full cooler of drinks. The music was still loud enough, but dulled a little by the walls and that inexplicable feeling of night; when everything is cooler and drowning, like a head underwater and fireworks up on land.

Bellamy’s arm was draped across her shoulders and one of her hands gripped at his jacket, to stabilise her.

“You know,” she said again, as Bellamy sat her down on a free garden chair. He picked up another and sat next to her. “I really love it when you come to these parties.”

“Oh, yeah?” Bellamy was exceptionally sober, he noticed. He’d only had a couple of swigs of that original beer, and the rest of the night so far was hanging out with Clarke and their friends; darts and dancing.

“Yeah – because you don’t have to be drinking to be awesome,” she told him, her voice trailing off in the middle and coming back strong for the end of the sentence. Bellamy listened carefully – there was a saying about drunk words being a sober man’s thoughts, but he didn’t know how much he believed it. What he did know was that Clarke could get confusing when she was tipsy. “Like, like, like,” she continued, nodding to herself. “You’re great even when you’re sober. You get that, right?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, and she reached over, lacing her fingers with his. “I know I’m great – you’re pretty great too.” Even though it was dark, Bellamy could have sworn he saw her blush. Clarke didn’t reply, just stared up at the house; the bodies dancing and moving in the windows. The rest of the houses they could see from their position were dark, with maybe one light on upstairs. Bellamy doubted anyone was sleeping on this road.

Clarke started mumbling to herself, and Bellamy focused on her voice. He could only start figuring out her words when she got a little louder.

“… which sucked but it makes complete sense now, you know? And Lexa was right too-“ Bellamy frowned. Clarke hadn’t mentioned her ex-girlfriend in months. “I was putting all my energy not into the relationship, and you know she said that I cared about you, and I said that I cared about all of my friends, and Lexa- you know what Lexa said?” Clarke wasn’t even looking at Bellamy, but at her feet, but her fingers were still laced with his anyway. “Lexa said that I care about you more, which-“

“Hey, Blake!” Clarke abruptly shut off, and Bellamy looked up.

“Hey, Wick,” Bellamy replied. He wondered if Clarke would keep talking at all, but he doubted it. She’d perked up at the sight of her friend, and jumped out of the chair, stumbling.

“Whoa, there,” Wick said, holding her up. “Blake, I heard you’re sober?” He nodded. “Great, because Raven is smashed and I think someone needs to drive her home. Are you that someone?” Bellamy sighed, pulling out his phone.

“I need to get going anyway,” he said reluctantly. Clarke pouted.

“Nooo,” she slurred. “You can’t go.”

“Sorry, Princess,” Bellamy replied, now standing. Wick directed him to where Raven was passed out, and Bellamy nodded along. Clarke followed as he picked up their friend in a bridal carry and moved to the front door.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?” He said as a goodbye. Clarke nodded, her hand already clutching at another drink. She smiled at him.

“Okay, love you Bell!” She disappeared into the crowd, and Bellamy had the entire journey to Raven’s and then to his, to figure out her words. She’d never said that she loved him, even platonically before – and whilst it probably meant nothing at all, her mumblings about caring for him more than the rest of their friends…

Bellamy shook his head, parking his car and heading up the stairs. He shut off his phone, setting his alarm and falling straight into bed.

-

In the morning, Bellamy rushed around, getting together his stuff for work. He worked at a café on the weekends, and it wasn’t until he was behind the counter after the morning rush had been and gone, that he’d managed to check his phone.

He wasn’t big on technology, and texting wasn’t really his favourite thing. His friends knew that and would all revert to calling him if they needed to get in contact. But, when he looked as Monroe took over the till and he moved back into the employee lounge, he found himself bombarded with texts from the night before.

 

**Miller 12:03am**

Ur gonna get a kick out of this. Clarke announced her undying love for u whilst singing Celine Dion and then promptly fell off the table.

 

**Murphy 12:17am**

Get here now bc clarke doesn’t wanna do me for the first time ever

**Murphy 12:21am**

Legit somethings up shes drunk im drunk this is how it works

 

**Monty 1:03am**

Either clarke just told me her plans for your marriage to her or I just imagined it

**Monty 1:04am**

In other news pot brownies were a success

 

**Clarke 1:45am**

I fOUnd my pHone under THE sofa!!!!!!?!

**Clarke 2:02am**

MURPH THE MAN passed out on my lap he smells like lasANYA

**Clarke 2:03am**

Get it bc ANYA was at the party

**Clarke 2:03am**

????!?

**Clarke 3:12am**

I’m less drunk now promise

**Clarke 3:24am**

I was trying to tell you before that lexa was right

**Clarke 3:29am**

Lexa was right about me + u

**Clarke 4:00am**

I just called u + u didn’t pick up which is probs bc ur asleep

**Clarke 4:01am**

Sorry

 

Bellamy paused, staring at the texts for a minute and trying to piece the night together. He could picture Clarke falling off a table easily – he’d seen it before. He’d also seen her sing along to ‘My Heart Will Go On’ multiple times, so that wasn’t surprising either. But announcing her undying love was another thing, rejecting Murphy’s advances when drunk was another, and – well, Bellamy didn’t even understand what she was talking about when it came to Lexa.

He typed out simple responses to everyone apart from Clarke, and then listened to his single voice mail.

“Bell!” Clarke screamed down the phone. “Bell. Bellamy. Bellamy Bradbury Blake. Bradbury Bellamy Blake. I wish you were here. I really, really wish you were here because you’re warm and cosy, and – and I forgot where I was going with this, hold on.” Bellamy smiled to himself, settling into the sofa. In the background, he could hear the music thumping and a door clicking. “You’re supposed to be here because then you would’ve gotten to hear what I was saying – or did I say it already to you? I don’t know, but I’m going to say it now because you should know and you never listen to your voicemails so you won’t, anyway.”

He didn’t understand her logic, but she kept going.

“Finn and I were useless and you know that and I know that and Raven knows that because she was with him at the same time as me and that’s why we broke up-“ she took a breath. “And that sucked but he was always jealous of you which was silly because he was the one cheating, not me. And then Lexa was saying stuff about me caring for you more than my other friends and I thought that was stupid but it’s not, is it?”

Her voice slowly stopped slurring as she spoke, and Bellamy pressed the phone to his ear harder than necessary.

“I’m fucking in love with you and you’re not here to hear it,” she sighed. “Anyway, I’ll talk to you tomorrow, and you probably won’t have even listened to this by then because you’re an old man who doesn’t understand phones. Bye, Bell.”

Bellamy stared at his phone for a moment, swallowing. The word around him was silent, but then Monroe ducked her head through the door.

“We’ve got a queue,” she told him, and he nodded, forcing the thoughts away from his mind.

-

It was almost noon when Clarke entered the shop, her sunglasses on her face, her baseball cap backwards on her head, probably to hide the dirty hair, and an oversized jumper that looked inexplicably like Bellamy’s swamping her body. The shop was pretty empty, and Bellamy busied himself with the cups as she approached.

“Bell,” she greeted with a nod. Bellamy glanced over, as if he hadn’t already spotted her and smiled. Clarke was two things: a drinker, and someone who got right to the chase. She leaned on the counter, and Monroe disappeared into the back.

“You haven’t read your texts yet, right?” She asked, her voice weary, as if she only just woke up.

“Why?” Bellamy responded, even though he knew the answer. She clicked her fingers, holding out her hand anyway.

 “Phone, please.” Bellamy nodded, slipping the phone over, and Clarke typed in his password.

“It’s no use,” he said. “I’ve already read them.” He couldn’t see her eyes but her fingers stiffened and froze for a moment over the screen. “There was a voicemail, too.” Clarke huffed after a moment, lowering the phone to the counter.

“From me, right?” He nodded. “What did I say?”

“You can’t remember?”

“I don’t want to say what I think I said in case I’m wrong,” she corrected. Bellamy smiled, leaning on the counter, so their faces were closer. He slowly pulled her shades from her face, and he was greeted with tired lines under the blue of her eyes.

“You said my middle name a few times,” he told her, and Clarke smirked despite herself. “Then you brought up Finn and Lexa.” Her smile faltered. “Then you said that you loved me.” Her face turned impassive and Bellamy searched for any trace of emotion – something that could give her away. Clarke nodded.

“You didn’t reply to the texts or phone me back,” was all she said, her voice eerily calm.

“I read them during my shift,” he replied. “There were customers and I wouldn’t know what to say if I did reply.” Clarke pushed herself away from the counter, placing the phone in between them.

“It’s sort of a yes or no kind of answer,” she explained. “Yes, you love me too, or no, you don’t.” Bellamy’s heart was caught in his throat – because it wasn’t her being drunk, because he wouldn’t admit his feelings to _himself_ in a million years and now he had to do it to Clarke, because they were doing this all while Monroe listened in from behind the doorway.

Clarke’s face finally had some emotion to it; she was open and earnest, and Bellamy smiled, because he was in _love_ with this girl who drank until she was blind, who felt so strongly but hid it all away, who knew every word to every Celine Dion song in existence.

“Of course I love you,” he replied. He loved the girl whose face broke out into a smile, who didn’t even hesitate before moving around behind the counter and pressing her lips to his; her hands cupping at his face and her teeth dragging down on his lower lip. She was everything; all encompassing, and his hands clutched at her hips, her waist, _her_ for all he was worth.

“I love you, too,” she whispered into his lips when they pulled apart. Bellamy forgot he was at work, or that people were surely looking, he just kissed her soundly, letting himself get lost in Clarke Griffin and her lips.

**Author's Note:**

> ayyyyyeee thanks for reading!  
> Kudos and comments are loved and appreciated!


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